Wilting
by Jan Lee
Summary: ONESHOT. How do you deal with the pain of your master's death? Kiba/Ino, Ino-centric.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto.

**Rating: T, **for some language.

**A/N:** Hm. Well, this oneshot is my first attempt at hurt/comfort/friendship, with a slight hint at Kiba/Ino. The point of view is written in the rare second person. I saw a short story written this way and felt up to the challenge. Here goes. Enjoy.

**Wilting**

**--:--**

**At long last,** you are able to leave the boring counter at your father's flower shop. Your shift is over, and you're free for a few hours before you have to head home. The day had been, and continues to be, beautiful; sunny, warm, with a light breeze you reveled in during your lunch break.

A deep breath lets you smell the cusp of summer, so close, yet still several weeks from the _really_ warm weather. Still, this late afternoon is warm, pleasantly so. You turn left, since you always feel left is lucky, and begin to walk.

Not much traffic on the sidewalk. Most everyone is working today, just as you have been. The few people you see you barely recognize, but you do wave to a few neighbors.

You have an urge to visit Sakura, since you haven't seen her in ages. Your eyes lift to the Hokage Tower overlooking Konoha. You take in the shape, the new architecture of the building, and you wonder---how many times has that tower been rebuilt? Two? Three?

Sakura. Right. Hm. You're not sure where you can find her. Probably the hospital, but there's an equal chance she's with her team on a mission after the Uchiha. That's as far as you dare take the thought.

The possibility that you could leave a message with her parents crosses your mind; before you can think too much about it, your feet turn onto that familiar path. Growing up, you had tread that sidewalk five, six times a week. Fewer now that you're both older---and rivals.

Houses line up as you walk down the street. Sakura's neighborhood is newer, if possible, than the section of Konoha around the Hokage Mountain. The homes are airy, clean-looking, and you enjoy looking at the gardens people keep.

For right now, you keep your eyes forward, and your mind in pleasant neutrality.

If you think too much, you might remember your master's last words---

Just in time a loud bark startles you. Heart in your throat, you whirl.

Your view is blocked by a black leather jacket, open at the neck to show off a net undershirt. Unexpectedly, the hollow of that throat attracts you; you feel your nerves strum.

You want it to be him; you don't.

It is.

Inuzuka Kiba.

He's been nicer to you since…_that _day, but you still don't entirely get along with him. Maybe that's for the best. You like fighting with him because he doesn't back down and neither do you.

But all that fighting was before. Before that _one_ mission---

How brave are you feeling today? Do you dare look up, over the red triangles into his eyes?

"Ino." He sounds as surprised as you are. You don't look at his face because Akamaru has pushed his head into your stomach. To distract yourself, you scratch behind his ears. His master continues. "How are you?"

Something is fighting to break free under your heart, but you worry that it's sorrow and so you clench your free hand tight---fingernails dig into your palm. Focus on the bite, you tell yourself, but the slight pain isn't enough to stave off the wash of emotions.

"I'm fine," you say, lying, but what does he know? "How's Master Kurenai?"

You're a coward, you realize, because you find the silver buttons and zippers on Kiba's jacket overly fascinating---you're avoiding his eyes. Akamaru's wonderful fur feels good, and you like the roughness of the pink tongue licking your arm.

"She's almost due. She showed us the ultrasounds," Kiba offers. So far he's kept back from you, and you are grateful he isn't picking a fight with you today.

"Cool." You don't have anything else to say. A thought whispers to you that you're not acting normal.

Thinking of Kurenai's baby makes you think of Asuma---dead.

Whatever had been scrambling in your heart manages to jump up into your throat.

You feel tears threatening for no reason. There's only one thing for you to do.

"I have to go," you say, hoping your voice doesn't betray your sadness.

An annoying thought secretly hopes it does.

"Ino---"

But you have pushed away, and instead of walking, you blindly shoot onto the roofs for a faster retreat. The chakra hums through your network, agitated and responsive.

You don't want him to follow you.

Faster.

Faster, faster, _faster_…legs pumping and lungs burning, faster and faster still, direction lost in the need to just get away. Gulp air, breathe, _breathe_!, keep going faster. The intense expulsion of energy forces the creature curling in your lungs and pressing against the back of your eyes to back down.

Satisfied with your temporary victory, you land in an empty field. The day is fading, overcome with impending night. The trees whisper with a breeze. Just as the day had been beautiful, so, too, will the night.

But you're gasping, now. Breathe. _Breathe_, dammit. Hands on knees. You continue huffing, pointedly _not _thinking about: Asuma limp under your hands, his voice; his sad, resigned eyes.

Panic freezes you. You didn't run fast enough---you were sure you had. The burning behind your eyes worsens and now couples with hitching breath. Shit. _Shit_, you _can't_ cry, you're too tired, too _over _mourning.

Angrily, you slam shut your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose.

You only cried for him once; you'd like to keep it that way…no one's going to think _you're _a crybaby. Worse is the fear that if you start crying, you'll never stop. The stinging lessens, but doesn't stop. Maybe some willful avoidance is in order.

You begin your daily mantra.

"Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't---"

A hand on your shoulder sends a jolt of terror ripping through you. A gasp tears from your throat.

Blind reaction as your hand flicks down for a kunai. Your body acts of its own accord, tilting like the earth and spinning a leg around to connect to a head. The move is followed by a swipe of the kunai; the weight feels good in your hands.

Black leather, red marks swarm your vision. _Inuzuka._ You cluck your tongue. What is _he _doing here?

"Whoa!" He had dodged your attack and has his arm cocked defensively. "All you had to do was _say _something."

Panic and surprise and nervousness collide inside you, and you wonder why you didn't hear him behind you. It pisses you off more; you keep the kunai prepped.

"What is _with _you?" you shout. "I could have _killed you_, you moron!"

He pauses to gaze at you with shrewd vertical pupils. His teeth break the even line of his mouth; he's calculating something in that mind of his, and you fear what his conclusions will be.

His hand twitches. A kunai glints. "Let's go, princess."

What? Is he _crazy_? You stall in sheer bewilderment. His mouth curls, and he's smirking at you. You try to ignore how you like the gleam of his fangs in the rapidly diminishing light, how you've _always _liked the wild look of him.

"What's wrong?" He coolly flips the kunai around his finger. "You too scared to go against an Inuzuka?"

The jeer hits home, for some reason finding a painful spot right in the chest. He gives you no time to speak, jumping at you with speed and deadly force.

With equal speed, you raise your kunai to deflect his with a satisfying clang. Your mind clarifies: keep an eye on his footwork, focus on getting through his guard. Watch his fingers for signs…don't forget Akamaru, and especially don't let him use a combination attack.

After lunging and dodging several times over, you pick up the rhythm of the fight. It's strictly taijutsu, and you think you'll keep it that way. You wonder if Kiba'll keep it that way, too.

He deflects your punches and kicks. You evade all his attacks against you. You're both trying, but not really. The neutrality you've been wanting clicks in and it's only you and Kiba, swinging and ducking and weaving in your own universe.

Minutes fly away like birds from trees. Now sweat runs down your face, pools in the small of your back. You're out of breath, lagging, but so's he, panting with an open mouth.

You don't think he would be winded so soon. Unless. Unless he'd been running. Your mind lingers on the thought.

Had he chased you here? Kept up with your violent speed to face you at the end?

You pay for your distraction; Kiba whips the kunai across, and you withdraw your arm too slowly.

The blade slices your forearm (ouch!) and immediately draws blood. Your hand covers the scratch automatically, but you would have liked to see the dark beads seep from the open skin. Like how it seeped from Asuma's---

Kiba, forgotten momentarily, grabs your wrist---startling you---and manages to pull your other hand away from the wound. "Shit! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

His concern for you is endearing, but you are uncomfortable with the grip of his hand. Your throat has tightened; swallowing is difficult.

"No! No…it's okay!" you repeat, tugging your arm, _trying _to break free from him. "It's superficial…and I can take care of it."

Cagey. That's what you feel when he doesn't let go, and instead, reaches into his pouch and produces gauze and antiseptic.

"No. I will," he insists. "I know you can use chakra to heal, but you're pretty tired."

The words to deny his statement rise in your throat. Somehow they die on your tongue. His touch scatters your thoughts, makes you frenetic inside, molecules vibrating and colliding and whizzing around the space of your body. Only the sting of the antiseptic saves you from where that feeling might lead.

You watch as his hands and fingers manipulate your arm and the gauze. Like the junction of his clavicle under his throat, you notice his knuckles. They are even, straight bumps lined up like school children at the base of his fingers. Your eyes travel from the knuckles, and you notice his wrists, flashing you from his jacket sleeves.

Just as you are thinking about what his forearms might look like, the hairs along your neck prickle. You wait. More prickling. Too late you realize that in your interest you have leaned your head closer to Kiba's. His breathing stirs the hairs on your neck.

A cold chill makes you shiver, but it's a good kind of shiver. The evaporation of sweat? Perhaps. The cooler evening breeze? Perhaps. You deny it is anything else.

"There we go," he says and the nearness of his voice, reverberating into your ears and down your spine, makes you jump.

He chuckles. "Skittish today, aren't you?"

You shiver again, the tingling like frost all down the nerves in your back. Annoyed, both by the shivering and his stupid comment, you snort and rip your arm out of his grasp.

Your patience has run out. His proximity, uncomfortable before, irritates you and you don't want to deal with him anymore.

"I'm not some damn animal you picked up, Inuzuka," you warn. You touch your arm, and keep your tone cool. "Thanks for the spar and for the first aid."

Satisfied with your parting words, you turn on your heel and walk away.

"Sure thing," he says, lowly, like he's unsure if you'll accept his comment without a fight.

An itch at the back of your mind bothers you…you wonder if he's watching you leave. It takes all your self-discipline to keep from turning your head and seeing if your hunch is true.

As you walk home, your muscles twitch under the skin from exertion. Your entire body has a sort of deep, glowing ache that has made you feel better, but at the same time, exhausted. You attribute a large part of that exhaustion to dealing with Inuzuka Kiba.

That night, after a late dinner and a shower, you can not fall asleep. Twelve-midnight flicks to twelve-oh-one on the alarm clock. The red numbers glow eerily in the gloom of the room. You are restless. You worry that you'll have---

"Stupid," you whisper to yourself. You wiggle. Squirm. Shove the pillow around. Flip off the covers. Count sheep but feel stupid doing it. With a sigh, you resign yourself to wakefulness.

Twelve-oh-five. Great. A breeze flutters your hand-made curtains. The window is wide open and the night…you can smell the dew on the grass, and the moonlight looks inviting.

Your mind travels out of the window, across the yard, through a patch of forest to a certain tree and a certain branch in that tree. That idea tempts you. No one knows about your special tree; just as Shikamaru has his clouds and Chouji has his food, your comfort comes from the swaying limbs of an oak.

You bite your lip. It's such a dumb idea to go there in the middle of the night. Your bed is where you belong. You need sleep. Going to the tree is a bad idea.

Resolutely you close your eyes. That's good. Keep the eyes closed. Stop thinking for a few minutes, get relaxed.

Red triangles flash in your imagination; a grin and sharp teeth. That stupid Inuzuka.

Just what was he thinking starting a spar up like that?

Behind your eyelids, you see his hands with vivid detail. Your skin warms and angrily you open your eyes and get out of bed.

Sleeping's overrated anyway, you decide. You don a robe and then without pausing, you mount the windowsill to leap into the silver-lined night. The cool air hits you first and, as you move through the backyard, the stillness is only disturbed by nighttime insects.

Ah. You breathe the cleansing air. The velvet sky is clear and the stars look like small, twinkling diamonds. The wet grass anoints your bare feet with cool dew. There is enough moonlight to prevent you from stumbling on your journey.

When you come upon your tree, you feel as though you've walked many miles. Carefully, tenderly as though to avoid disturbing the tree, you pick your way over the roots. Knowing the tree like the back of your hand, you kneel and reach between the roots.

There is a hidey-hole at the base of the trunk. Inside, you have kept a weather-proof hammock and a blanket. The hammock is a particularly ingenious invention and can be slung and un-slung whenever and wherever you choose.

You take your treasure and use your chakra to climb high up in the tree's boughs. You find a grand spot, midway up in the canopy and set up your floating bed. The swaying doesn't disconcert you, and you keep your eyes on the stars overhead.

Does Asuma see you from there?

The thought pangs in your chest. You breathe through it, and ready yourself for the next one.

What would he have accomplished had he lived?

Another pang resonates inside your hollow chest.

You hate this. You hate feeling weak and useless against feelings. Damned feelings that come from nowhere and attack you when you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke, or when you hear a laugh that's deep and male, or…or…or…

Looking in the mirror and seeing Asuma standing behind you proudly.

"Stop it. Stop it, now!" you tell yourself. Automatically, you squeeze your bandaged forearm and wince at the throb. It helps, barely.

Why do you like torturing yourself like this? Bearing wounds that won't heal, that you've concealed so carefully, no one, _no one_, has been able to see. Shikamaru is by himself these days, and Chouji looks lost, and you are the only one keeping the team together by sheer willpower.

It's sheer willpower that has prevented you from breaking down all together. You wish you could tell someone, but speaking words will only worsen and solidify the feelings, and you will cry. The creature twisting under your heart will wake and destroy your defenses.

You will cry so much it will be like opening floodgates.

And you won't be able to stop.

The tree boughs rock you as they respond to the breeze. The stars continue to peek through the leaves. You have swaddled yourself in the blanket, and the cool air amplifies the toasty warmth in your cocoon.

You think it takes forever to fall asleep, but it doesn't really take long at all.

You dream. You see Hidan, the Akatsuki member who stole your master's life. All the awful details are there---from his black nails to his slicked-back hair. He has dispensed with Chouji and Shikamaru---you don't know how you know, but you do. The knowledge has bit you with cold fangs, isn't letting go.

Now he's coming for you, swinging at you with that death scythe, yee-hawing and laughing uproariously. He skims the earth with super-human speed.

You run. You know you can't face him and survive. Fear strangles you. Each time Hidan swings the scythe, you feel the edge humming across your back, barely missing time and time again.

You feel like he's toying with you.

You can't make it…your legs…you can't run any faster. Your heart pounds and you're so fucking terrified you can barely function. You trip, sprawl to the ground. He's got you in his range…he grins wildly---insanely---he hefts the tri-blade above his head…

You scream and try diving out of the way.

It's then you realize your body reacted without thought, as you hit several branches during your fall.

You're so startled you don't feel the pain. Arms don't respond. Neither do legs. You're going to hit the ground…you're going to hit the ground any second, and you're still too paralyzed to do anything…you're going to break something or kill yourself because you were stupid enough to fall asleep in a damn…

"OOF!"

You don't crash like you expected.

Only when you find yourself on your feet do you realize that someone has caught you. You look around, giddy.

The dawn has broke with dim grey, and there's just enough light to show you it's Inuzuka Kiba again. He's looking perturbed.

You barely register his glare as he starts in on you. "What is _with_ you, Yamanaka? How the hell do you sleepwalk up a damn tree? If I hadn't heard you scream, you'd probably have a damn broke neck!"

You're shaken up, trembling. Nervously you slide your fingers through your hair, thinking you must look a mess. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Walking Akamaru. What about _you_?"

Yes, what is your excuse? "I was, uh…um, I was…"

The knot in your throat blocks any more words. You feel like you have to escape from his gaze. If you did run, he would only chase you and catch you. He's good at that.

He affects a knowing gaze as he sets his hands on his hips---an image of his mother lecturing him in the same stance pops into your mind. Giddiness and panic is a strange combination.

You start giggling as a result. The giggles turn to laughter, and you know you're looking like a loon. Kiba's low growl confirms your suspicion.

But laughing has broken the struggling creature inside you free. It lifts up, soaring like some bird of prey, and claws at your heart, at your brain. Eyes begin to burn. You know what's coming next, are powerless to stop it.

"What the-?"

You are as confused as he is when you bury your face in your hands and sob. And sob…and sob. The sobs wrack your body, waves and waves of pain crashing, beating, _tearing_ everything inside. Months of agony and despair pour forth, weakening you, and bringing you to your knees.

You think you are speaking, but you have no idea what you are saying. Things are blurry and mottled. Your throat has closed up, your nose is running, and you can taste salt.

Everything is raw; everything hurts.

Kiba cuddles you close to lend you his shoulder. His arms bring you tight against him, and you feel you cannot keep yourself together without his support; you cannot breathe without the rise and fall of his chest.

You were right. Your crying _is_ endless, but so is Kiba's patience. He rocks you, strokes your hair, and murmurs soft things to encourage you. After a long, long time, your well of tears runs dry. Breathing is difficult---so is swallowing.

Your eyes have swollen. They burn, and so you keep them shut by pressing them against Kiba's warm neck.

Inside, you feel washed out, weak, empty. You keep still, and imagine becoming the quiet aftermath of the ferocious storm. The idea is good, but abstract, so you think of sleeping kittens curled against their mother. You want to be that peaceful, and currently, you're that safe.

Eventually you feel Kiba move. He shifts you around to cradle you with an arm under your knees while the other finds purchase near your waist. He doesn't even breathe hard when he lifts you.

You wait, relaxed. He's carrying you. You don't know where, and frankly, you don't care. The image you're imitating changes slightly from kittens to puppies. You find you don't need the image as much as you had thought.

Exhausted, you drift to sleep. Wherever he takes you, you will be happy because it is a place _he _has brought you to.

**End.**


End file.
